


Oh, we're so disarming, darling

by mardisoir



Series: 1920s AU [1]
Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - 1920s, Multi, Non-Binary Jean Prouvaire, Other, Trans Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-11
Updated: 2017-10-11
Packaged: 2019-01-16 03:16:58
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,240
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12334407
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mardisoir/pseuds/mardisoir
Summary: In the gilt and marble bathroom of an expensive Parisian penthouse, Montparnasse washes blood off his hands.





	Oh, we're so disarming, darling

In the gilt and marble bathroom of an expensive Parisian penthouse, Montparnasse washes blood off his hands. 

Through the door he can hear the clink of crystal, the smooth melody of the piano, voices rising and falling like waves. Montparnasse checks his reflection, smoothes his hair and smiles; he is the very vision of a well-to-do upper class socialite.

Back in the main ballroom he looks around for his date, nodding courteously at other smartly dressed guests as they pass. The room is luxurious to the point of ridicule, even for his own somewhat ostentatious tastes. Montparnasse smirks as he watches a man lean casually against a plant stand, nearly tipping over the huge arrangement of flowers sprouting from an ugly but undoubtedly priceless vase. He plucks a glass of champagne from the tray of a passing waiter and then, just as he’s starting to grow concerned, he sees Jehan.

Surrounded by some of the wealthiest, most influential names and faces in the city, Jehan holds court like they were born to it; elegant and effortless. Amidst the glittering splendour of the party, they are the only thing Montparnasse would care to keep.

“In London they call them the Bright Young Things,” an enthusiastic American is telling them, his friends nodding along. “Surely that’s more true than ever here in Paris.”

“Mais non messieurs,” Jehan replies. “The youths you see here, they are truly creatures of darkness. Why else would they flock to the City of Light?”

The men laugh, clustered around Jehan like moths to a flame. Something that is more than pride, more than lust, warms Montparnasse’s chest as he watches them; the most beautiful creature in the room and they are all his own.

Jehan notices him then and their posture changes, their face brightens. “Excuse me, gentlemen.”

Jehan heads towards him and Montparnasse meets them halfway. Around them the crowd fades, the music quietens, everything turns grey and pale in contrast to the sight of them.

“You have blood on your collar, my love,” Jehan says in a low voice. “Are you quite alright?”

“Oh dear,” Montparnasse says with an amused little smile. “How clumsy, I must have cut myself shaving. Is it salvageable?”

Montparnasse’s cheeks are unmarred and perfect, as they always are.

“Mm, I think not. But please, allow me,” Jehan leans in close and presses their lips to the starched cotton over the stain, leaving a perfect print of their lips in dark red. “A more striking splash of colour, don’t you think?”

“Perfect. We’re a matched pair.” 

Jehan’s eyes sparkle with possessive delight and Montparnasse thrills to see it. 

“Is this your young man?” the American asks, having made his way over to them, and Jehan’s pretty mouth twitches with quickly concealed irritation.

“Yes, I am lucky enough to say that he is mine.”

“Surely he’s the lucky one,” the American chortles. “We were just talking shop.”

“He’s a writer,” Jehan explains to Montparnasse, “I’m so sorry dear, I’ve forgotten your name.”

The American’s smile falters slightly at that. “Francis.”

“Charmed,” Montparnasse shakes his hand when it’s offered. “It seems every other person I meet these days is a writer or an American or both.”

“We do seem to be flocking here in droves, but then Paris is such a inspirational city, don’t you think? So full of opportunity for people with a creative streak.”

Montparnasse smiles. “I couldn’t agree more.”

In the pocket of his perfectly tailored coat sits the contents of hostess’s jewellery box. In the alley downstairs, the body of the man who caught him sifting through it.

“You must come to one of Gertie’s salons,” Francis tells Jehan, “she’d adore you. I’m surprised I haven’t seen you there before, I thought I knew all of this crowd.”

“That sounds like great fun,” Jehan says, leaning into the arm Montparnasse wraps around their waist.

Montparnasse, meanwhile, watches with narrowed eyes as a maid slips into the room, headed for the lady of the house. He gently squeezes Jehan’s fingers in warning.

“Would you excuse us?” Jehan smiles dazzlingly, “I need to freshen my drink.”

“Of course,” Francis nods. “Wait though, I didn’t catch your name?”

Jehan and Montparnasse are already walking away, cutting a quick path through the dancers and slipping out of the double doors, down the staircase and out into the night. Jehan laughs as they race along the pavement hand in hand, their long hair starting to tumble out of it’s carefully rolled bob. Montparnasse waves down a taxi and they pile into the back seat. When Jehan leans forward to give the driver their address, Montparnasse takes the opportunity to press his mouth to the back of their neck until they squirm and fall breathless into his arms.

The streets rush past in a blur of light, the night air is cold and Jehan shivers in Montparnasse’s embrace. “I forgot my coat,” they mumble against his lips, in a break between searing kisses.

“I’ll get you another,” Montparnasse promises. “I know a way we can keep warm.”

Jehan laughs again when he slips a hand under their skirt.

The ride is over too quickly, they pay their fare and clatter up the stairs to Jehan’s apartment.

“What an absolutely dreadful party,” Jehan says, kicking off their shoes and collapsing onto the unmade bed. “We should have snuck into the ballets russes or the Folies. I am so tired of men talking at me about their terrible novels.”

“You have the patience of a saint, my sweet. But the ballet would not have yielded such fruit.”

Montparnasse tosses Jehan his coat and a handful of sparkling treats spill out over the rumpled sheets.

“How lovely,” Jehan sighs, slipping a string of flawless pearls around their neck. 

“How lovely,” Montparnasse agrees, his gaze lingering on their face.

Jehan smiles up at him and starts to unpin their hair while Montparnasse unbuttons his shirt. He sets the lipstick stained collar aside, a memento, and joins Jehan on the bed. 

“If you're bored, my darling, why don’t we take a holiday?”

“A holiday?” Jehan shimmies out of their dress and throws it carelessly towards the chair in the corner. It misses and slides to the floor. “And do what?” they prop themself up on one elbow, a vision in silk underwear, stockings slipping down one leg, stolen pearls glowing in the dim light.

“Whatever we like,” Montparnasse picks up the nearly empty bottle of champagne they’d abandoned beside the bed earlier that evening and swirls the remaining liquid thoughtfully. “We’ll take a trip, just the two of us. See the world, anywhere that takes your fancy. Where shall we go? The Riviera?”

“Too many tourists,” Jehan says with marked distaste, plucking the bottle out of his hand.

“Berlin?” Montparnasse suggests. 

“Too many fascists.”

“America, then. New Orleans, New York?”

“Prohibition,” Jehan tilts the champagne bottle and swallows the last drop.

“Cairo? Athens? Rome?”

“I shall get sunburnt.”

“We can’t have that,” Montparnasse presses a kiss to one pale shoulder. “London? You won’t get a sunburn there.”

“No,” Jehan shudders delicately. “ _Les Anglais_.”

Montparnasse laughs and leaps off the bed, catches Jehan’s hands and draws them up into his arms to dance a messy tango around the room.

“Well then my love,” he says, dipping Jehan dramatically, “we shall have to stay here.”

“What a shame,” Jehan smiles, eyes bright and cheeks flushed, and pulls him down into a kiss.  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> This was inspired by a wonderful piece of artwork and headcanons you can find here:
> 
> https://mooglinrouge.tumblr.com/post/148367498610/jehan-and-montparnasse-in-a-1920s-au-by-day
> 
> and I was lucky enough to receive some beautiful art of this fic too ❤︎ 
> 
> https://mooglinrouge.tumblr.com/post/156178647820/20sjehan-relaxing-in-their-lingerie-after-a
> 
> Title from Apartment Story by The National.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[Podfic] Oh, we're so disarming, darling](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14221089) by [Moonfreckle (Sunfreckle)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sunfreckle/pseuds/Moonfreckle)




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